


animal

by dashcommaslash



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, F/F, Genderswap, Implied Consent, Omega John, Omega Verse, Sleep Sex, hot sweaty watson, implicit bdsm and rough sex, sherlock's bed, sherlock's trousers, they're chicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dashcommaslash/pseuds/dashcommaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The messages get shorter and more desperate, and the most recent one is wordless: a blurry shot of Johnny’s sweaty nape, fist tight in the blond curls she is pulling to expose it. Sherlock runs the last block and up the stairs. Inside, she triple-bolts the door and shoves a stopper under it, checks to make sure the windows are latched, and throws off her coat, following the needy sounds into her bedroom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The messages get shorter and more desperate, and the most recent one is wordless: a blurry shot of Johnny’s sweaty nape, fist tight in the blond curls she is pulling to expose it. Sherlock runs the last block and up the stairs. Inside, she triple-bolts the door and shoves a stopper under it, checks to make sure the windows are latched, and throws off her coat, following the needy sounds into her bedroom.

Johnny is, helpfully, naked, apart from the knickers still wound about her ankle. She’s on all fours, rubbing her face and tits into the mattress, but she twists her neck to look at Sherlock. God, look at her—desperate—the sweat glistening on her flank and at her collarbone, her mouth red, as pleased to see Sherlock as if Sherlock were the gazelle and she the lion.

Sherlock slips off her Oxfords. On any other day she'd prolong the agony: perch on the desk, legs parted, make Johnny crawl. But she's waited too long for that. Johnny's hit 39 degrees. The starburst has disappeared against her shoulder and the thin scars against her neck, and her lips and eyes are dark. And Sherlock isn't superhuman. Already she feels dizzy, hungry. Sherlock kneels on the bed in shirtsleeves and trousers, brackets Johnny's knees with her own, leans down to lick sweat off her spine. She reaches up to pinch and twist a nipple and, when Johnny bucks, sinks teeth into the soft expanse between shoulder and neck, drawing blood and curses.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock's never fancied the unconscious, whatever Sally might say. But then Sally's never had Johnny, and once Sherlock hadn't, either. 

For three days out of the month, Johnny is responsive even in her sleep. Sherlock brushes hair off her brow, sucks dark bruises on the underside of her arm, and pushes two fingers into her, as Johnny nods and whines agreement, twists her hips. On these mornings, Johnny likes to wake up with Sherlock's cock already inside her.

Sherlock stripped down to briefs and a wife beater after the first fuck last night, and she holds a squirming Johnny tight as she pushes the briefs down. She has eighty-five seconds before Johnny begins to wake up, and she uses the time, pushing her thumb into her toy soldier's mouth, wiping the saliva across Johnny's nipples, lining up her hips. Sherlock's not a genius for nothing.

When Johnny stirs and opens one eye, Sherlock shams the shame of discovery. "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself," she says, low. "I had to have you, even though it was wrong." She pulls away, as if to disentangle herself, dragging her nails as if by accident up Johnny's side.

Johnny moans, half-asleep, and pulls, hard, at the dark curls at her neck. "Fuck you, Sherlock. Come back."

Sherlock smiles. "What do you need?" 

"You know what I need, you mad bitch." Johnny is quaking against Sherlock's nails, raking against her nipples, and her voice wavers.

"Yes," says Sherlock. "I know  _everything_ about you, don't I?" It isn't nearly true, but there's enough for a decent monograph.

Johnny nods, as Sherlock sinks into her again. "You're _brilliant_. Oh, god. Brilliant." Johnny's getting hot again, her pupils dilating, her hands clenching hard, her lovely red mouth opening, feet curling, and it isn't going to be hard to seem brilliant to her. She's already close to coming again, and if that won't be the loveliest sight and, even better, feel like heaven on Sherlock's cock. But Sherlock laughs, like a girl praised for her beauty, and does her best to prove it.


End file.
